


Don't Overthink It

by Ragnjarok



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gang Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 21:29:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18484732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragnjarok/pseuds/Ragnjarok
Summary: Geralt spends most of his time falling head first into trouble. When trouble finds him for once, he might fall a bit harder than he bargained for.





	Don't Overthink It

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of Geralt/Everyone (but mostly Regis) for the soul. And motorcyles just for me.

He peeled a wet, muddy sock off and threw it into the pile beside his bed; The collection of similarly dirty clothes he hadn’t gotten around to washing in the last few days. His soaked hair hung down heavy, overcasting his eyes while he focused on the sound of talking and music coming from the only other room of his apartment. 

The old, dusty bed he sat on creaked under his weight, and Geralt blinked the water from his eyes. What little light had previously filtered in thru his boarded window was quickly fading. He rubbed the tired ache from his eyes. Had it really been so long since he had slept? 

He couldn’t remember what restful sleep really felt like anymore. 

“Geralt! Get in here! Lambert’s making shit up again and I need you to back me up on this.” Eskel’s deep, gravelly voice shouted from the other side of his door. Geralt almost regretted inviting his two closest friends over. Currently, what he craved more than anything was rest to relieve the pounding headache he’d picked up on the way home.

He grumbled to himself and stood, one sock still on, stumbling into the tiny living room where Lambert and Eskel were sitting opposite one another on the beat-up recliners Geralt had taken in over the years.

“Hey, sleeping beauty. Was worried I wouldn’t get to beat your ass at cards again tonight.” Lambert sneered. The only way he knew how to be affectionate, Geralt assumed.

Eskel tossed a crumpled, empty can near Geralt’s feet and motioned for him to come sit in the remaining seat. He obliged. The next few minutes were spent listening to the clack of dice, sipping a day old beer and hiding a smile behind his hand whenever his two friends recounted stories they’d amassed since they last spoke.

“You would not believe how many girls want me to kill their exes for not giving back some clothes they left or something. It’s like, take care of your own shit. Break into his house!” Lambert slurred drunkenly in his characteristically nasal voice. Eskel snorted but did not comment, choosing to instead lay down a small handful of cards.

Geralt smiled, zoning out for a minute to focus on an empty bag of chips Lambert knocked to the ground. He glanced up from under his new, rain-begotten hairstyle. 

“I’ll tell you guys about my day if you stop littering on my carpet.” Geralt cracked his neck before continuing. “So, I got a call from Vesemir. Rode all the way to his place to see what he wanted, found out he wanted me on clean up duty,” he scowled, “had to drag a huge bag of who-knows-what into that swamp over by the bowling alley. To top it all off, I smell like the ass end of a garbage truck.” He set down the can he had been nursing and leaned to drape his arms over the back of the seat. “And now…” Another pause, for dramatic effect. “I’ve got you two bozos keeping me from well earned rest.”

Eskel rolled his eyes at Geralt just as Lambert, having been ignorant of Geralt’s short speech, threw down his full hand and leaped from the seat. “Got you!! I finally got you, asshole!” He pointed a finger at Eskel and cackled through his teeth before grabbing the tiny pile of quarters near Eskel’s hand. Geralt groaned at the sudden noise and covered his still-muck-ridden face. 

“You two still coming along for that run tomorrow?” Eskel started cleaning up the cards halfheartedly as he asked. “I heard Vesemir wanted all of us just in case everything goes south. Seeing how you both ache and whine like old men, he’s probably right to worry.” He laughed wryly and clunked his scuffed, old boots on the newly cleared table.

Lambert shoved Eskel’s feet immediately off of the table and set his can down. “Oh stuff it dude, you know it’s gonna be just as boring as everything else he asks of us. At this point I’m pretty sure he only sends us as errand boys because his lazy ass can’t make it up a flight of stairs anymore. It’s the arthritis.” Eskel threw a pillow at Lambert’s head upon hearing the jab and it narrowly missed hitting Geralt on the rebound.

“Show some respect, dickhead. He took your measly ass in, didn’t he?” Eskel said almost grimly. Lambert twisted his face up a bit, but did not respond. Even though all three of them knew this to be the usual brand of playful teasing they dished out around each other, there was an underlying tension that was unlikely to leave despite the years pushing it deeper into obscurity. 

“Alright, alright, everybody out. I need a shower and I’m not about to trust you guys to not drink all my beer.” Geralt glanced at the clock and sighed internally as he realized it was already 2 a.m. Shit, he thought, We’re supposed to be ready to go in a few hours. He got up, motioned for the door, and began gently kicking the small army of cans laid out on his carpet into a pile. Eskel and Lambert each patted him on the back on their way out, with the latter’s pat being more a mockery of the former’s.

Geralt padlocked the door behind them routinely and put the remaining beers away in his fridge before pulling off his leather jacket. The beat up fabric had stuck to his skin from the rain and swamp water he’d gotten doused with. His undershirt wasn’t much better off and his pants were nigh unsalvageable. He grunted heavily, leaving his clothes strewn around the room as he dragged himself into the barely-wide-enough shower. He didn’t exactly live in the lap of luxury, but he had what he needed and that’s what mattered. 

While the hot water melted away the layer of grime from his face and chest, he thought about what Yennefer would think of the shit he got up to these days. He hadn’t seen her in at least a week and a half, but that was for the best if he was constantly covered in muck and had his pockets lined with a few dozen dollars’ worth of blood money. He sighed and stood under the water until it started turning cold. Once his hair was back to it’s normal white and his beard was more grey than brown he toweled off and crawled into bed. The sound of rain carried him peacefully to sleep, but didn’t do much to assuage the incessantly bad nightmares he was accustomed to.

 

-

 

The next morning, he pulled on a fresh denim shirt, scrubbed what dirt he could from his jacket and found the only clean pair of jeans left in his dresser. He scrubbed his face dryly with his hands, taking account of the ridges marking old scars which had spelled out the grisly details of his occupation to anyone who had seen him. The leather of his jacket creaked as he stretched the sleep from his shoulder blades.

Geralt slung his sword sheath (which looked pretty cool, he thought) over his shoulder, snatched the keys from beside the door and trotted down the steps until he got to his bike. He slapped the haunch of the vehicle in admiration. ‘Roach’ had been the affectionate name he’d given the bike after having it for so many years. He even shelled out a little dough on an (admittedly) dumbass vanity plate. It started with a shaky purr and he slipped his sunglasses on before making off to Vesemir’s place.

He wasn’t too far from his destination when his phone went off. He glanced between the screen and the road; ‘Pick up at your own risk’. Shit, that’s Triss. She probably wanted to chew him out for not calling her back last night. It sort of slipped his mind somewhere in between digging around in a swamp and babysitting his two favorite knuckleheads. He flipped the phone open.

“Yeah?” He tried his best to smother the naturally unaffected tone he always had. She might think he ignored her on purpose if he sounds irritable.

“Where the hell are you right now? You sound like you’re standing in a wind tunnel.” She sounded already prepared to hit him over the head with a blunt object.

“I’m driving, what do you need?” He half-yelled over the wind.

“Why didn’t you call me last night? I stayed up wondering if you’d finally fallen into a manhole and hit your head for the last time.” She snorted at her own joke, pleased with herself.

“Oh, yeah, sorry about that I got caught up in a uh… situation. Vesemir wanted me on clean up, but since you didn’t know I’m guessing he let you off easy.” Geralt chewed his lip to keep from saying anything about how often she was given the easier tasks, because Vesemir considered her more valuable as brain power than Geralt. He was Geralt’s father figure in most respects but they still occasionally got into spats due to the general bone-headedness that Geralt found came so easily to him, and to the ease with which Vesemir thought up a biting insult after years with the gang. 

“He asked me to come over and help him sort out the plan for today, if you must know.” The phone rustled as she regained her composure and cleared her throat. “Are you guys still doing that? I assume that’s what you’re on the road for.”

“Yeah. Listen, I gotta go. I’ll text you later, alright?” He was finding it hard to control the bike with one hand.

“Alright, but if you don’t text me, I’m going to assume you kicked the bucket, Idiot.” She hung up before he could respond, just as he turned into the parking lot outside Vesemir’s (much nicer than his own) apartment. The door knocker was in the shape of a wolf. Geralt smiled to himself when he caught the light beam off of it. Little signs of home. 

He nudged the bike’s kickstand down and frowned at the picture of Triss he had set as her icon years ago. They were a thing back then, when she first joined up with Vesemir’s lost cause of a gang he had taken a liking to her and knew that she had feelings for him in return. It didn’t last very long, seeing as they were opposites in so many regards. He didn’t have time to think on how things ended. 

He pushed the door open and took the stairs two at a time: He could hear that Lambert and Eskel were already there and if he was much later Vesemir would box his ears for it.

“Ah Geralt, so nice of you to finally join us.” His voice was rough with age and cigarettes, but his smile remained that of a mini-mall Santa Claus accentuated by round cheeks, wrinkled eyes and a pot belly. 

Geralt made his way around the large round table that sat in the center of the room and slid into one of the many empty chairs. Relics of a time when every seat was filled. 

Vesemir cleared his throat and continued, “Anyway, I need the two of you,” He pointed a rounded finger at Eskel and Geralt, “to intimidate whoever comes to the door. Lambert, I need you to sneak around the back of the building and try to get the window on the back wall open without alerting anyone. If you can incapacitate anyone, do it. If not, I don’t want things to get bloody and I’d rather you lot not lose any limbs. I’m up to my eyebrows in medical bills already thanks to you lot. Understood?” His voice rang with what used to be authority, but had been worn down into exasperation over time. He looked around at the three of them and began folding up the map of the building that had been their newest target. As far as Geralt had been told, these people owed Vesemir some money off of some loan shark business he’d gotten into a decade previous.

“Sure, smash a window, knock some guys out with a brick, take the cash. Sounds real easy, Uncle Vesemir.” Lambert said, dripping with sarcasm and picking at his nails with a knife.

Vesemir closed his eyes for a moment, heaved a sigh and waved his hand at the group to get moving. Eskel and Geralt made their way outside, with Lambert trailing behind. All three men pulled their matching, wolf-shaped pendants free from where they were hidden beneath their shirts, a clear sign to the people they were dropping in on that Vesemir had sent them. 

Eskel climbed onto his own bike and Lambert sat behind Geralt on his, arms wrapped around his strong waist. Lambert had crashed his own motorcycle a week prior, sneaking off with the license plate in the hopes he wouldn’t have to explain why he was going 30 over the speed limit to any police. Eskel glanced knowingly over at the both of them before slipping his helmet on. Geralt preferred to ride without one, and Lambert was so thick-headed he probably didn’t need one at all. As Geralt revved his bike’s engine, he felt a stab of anxiety somewhere behind his ribcage. He had a sinking feeling today wouldn’t be one of the easy ones.


End file.
